A Very Bad Day
by The Abbot of Beregost
Summary: The return of Gunny Sims! Our unfortunate marine's adventures during KGL, pts 1 and 2, Scattered and beyond. Chapter eight is up...COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

"Gunny!"

_I just can't catch a break, can I?_

"Yes, sir?"

Saul Tigh advanced on Gunnery Sergeant Craig Sims as he sat there, gearing up for another shift as constable on the Geminon Traveler. He hated that shit- it was always crowded and claustrophobic, packed to the gills with people. It housed many refugees, and was the site of most of the brawls and thefts on record. If they were willing to pull a vet like Sims off such a garbage duty, odds are he was being sent somewhere much, much worse.

"Get geared up, grab one of your men. Nothing more than your usual duty gear, this won't take long. You're to escort the Vice President on assignment. Have fun with the egghead, Sims."

_Frack, I was right. _

**000000000000**

The Raptor felt exceptionally crowded to Sims. Every seat was filled, mostly with support personnel. The marines dwarfed everyone in their heavy gear. Baltar sat up front, with the pilot. Sulivan was flanked by two scientists, and beside Sims sat the two mechanics. Specialists Callie and Socinus sat with Tyrol and a third egghead sat closer to Crashdown. Sims grumbled and stared at Sullivan, obviously unhappy with the situation. Sullivan merely shrugged, as if to say, _beats cleaning the latrines_.

Everything was fine, everything was normal. All three Raptors left the hangar without a hitch, carrying their complement of civilians. A few mechanics and support personnel dotted the three ships- men and women like Socinus and Callie- but they were it. Sixty percent of the entire expedition was civilian, and at least half the non-civilians were on Sims' ship.The only combat-trained men on the entire mission were Sims and Sullivan. Sure, the marines trusted the navy guys, but still felt uncomfortable herding the civvies around an unexplored planet.

The Raptor took off with a hiss, chatter between the crafts sounding to Sims like his old Aunt and her sewing circle.

"I say we find Kobol, we count our blessings and stay there."

"Yeah, but the sacred scrolls tell us that this could guide us to Earth, right, El-Tee?"

"Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah, cut the chatter. Raptors two and three, on me..."

_Fraking pilots talk too much._

F.L.T. Spun up and ready," called out Crashdown. Callie was looking nervous, maybe a little green-the poor kid. Tyrol reached out, gave her a pat.

"Callie, hold onto your lunch," he joked as Crashdown counted down. She smiled a little, stared at her feet.

The jump went smoothly, and that was the first sign that something was wrong. The radio chatter started off as soon as they arrived.

"Bring the nose down, we should see the planet directly ahead."

"What the hell is that? Oh, my gods!"

Sims saw what was wrong as pieces of Raptor Three and a raider spun past the cockpit. A dozen more Cylon ships barely missed his craft, and Sims had that sinking feeling once again.

_Frack. Just not my day. _

The panic began to rise, everyone screaming. Tracers flew past the windshield. The pilot somehow managed to weave his way through a Cylon fighter wing, ducking fire. Everyone was screaming, most of it simply noise.

"They're everywhere--"

"Get us out of here!"

"C'mon, we got a fire in the turbine!"

The Raptor shuddered and tilted oddly. The pilot was screaming over everyone now.

"Shutting it down!"

There was a sickening thud, and there was blood all over the windshield. Thick white lines led away from the impact site of the heavy slug. Baltar simply sat there a moment, shocked. Sims could hear the whine of air passing out the hole the Cylon bullet had made.

"Pilot down, pilot down!" Baltar screeched. Sims had half a mind to put him out of his misery. Crashdown shoved his way to the front as the crew chief slammed a magnetic seal on the hole in the floor plating. Tyrol was trying to take charge. Crashdown dragged the Vice President out of his chair, and struggled to regain control of the craft.

"Everybody, hang o­n... hang o­n, hang o­n!" he called out.

"Can you jump us out?"

"No, F.T.L. Drive's been hit!"

Tyrol was screaming over the civvies. The marines held on tight, silent. They knew there was little they could do inside the box. The crew chief shoved a petty officer into the the ECO seat.

"Socinus, get on the horn now and tell raptor two to jump back to Galactica! Like, right now! Get us out of here!"

Everyone was yelling, but Sims had to admit the calm demeanor of Tyrol was impressive. The petty officer - Socinus, or so his patches read- was trying to yell into the mike, but the civvies were making too much noise. Sims came out of his daze.

"Shut UP!" he bellowed in his range-voice, meant to be heard over shots in confined spaces.

"Raptor two, Raptor two... you are ordered to jump back to Galactica, over. You are ordered to jump back to Galactica!"

Baltar was panicking. He was screaming, trying to push his way to the front. Sims unbuckled himself, held his charge against the back of the ship. He looked over his shoulder, saw streaks of friction-heat start to cross the windshield. The planet was looking uncomfortably close, and the ride was getting too shaky for Sims' taste.

Tyrol turned to him, yelling, "What the hell are you doing!"

"Oh, god!" Baltar was cursing, going out of his mind.

"Hang on, hang on..."

The Vice President was flailing, acting extremely un-vice-presidential. Sims kept him restrained, though the temptation to give him a beating grew with each passing moment. The look in Baltar's eyes was unsettling at best.

"Look!"

Tyrol was pointing at the cracks spread through the glass on the front screen. A high pitched whine - air being forced through the cracks - rose over the screams.

"Everybody hit the deck!"

Sims shielded the VP with his body, hearing the cracks audibly now. Impacts on his vest and helmet followed the shattering sound of the glass. He hoped everyone was okay, turning around to check. There was a lot of blood, and he couldn't tell whose it all was. Sims forced the VP into his seat and buckled him down, fighting the airstream to get to safety himself. He buckled himself in beside the terrified, crying Callie.

"I can't see!" Crashdown cried over the wind. Sims thought he had been blinded by the glass. Tyrol stared through the shattered glass, shouted orders.

"Pull it up, pull it up! Watch the hill! Watch it!"

Sims looked up, and saw a wall of green shooting up to meet them. He grabbed Callie, ducked her down and shielded her face and upper body with his own. He screwed his eyes shut until he felt the massive, shuddering impact with the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Sims felt the world slow to a crawl. He could hear coughing, distant coughing. His...everything was sore. He was holding on to something, and it moved a little. He let go, opened his eyes. It was Callie, and she seemed to be little worse for wear. The Raptor, however, was burning. There was screaming, he could see daylight past two silhouettes.

"Everyone! Come on! Come on, move!"Crashdown was screaming, Tyrol not far behind.

"Everybody up! Callie, up, up, move!"

He looked beside him, saw Callie was still stunned. The heat was growing. He undid her harness, pushed her towards the chief.

"Get them out of the chairs, drag them out!"

Sims nodded dully, his brain still foggy from the crash. He looked to Sullivan, but he was gone, out already. Sims, Socinus and Baltar were the only ones left. Baltar was conscious if panicky, but Socinus was unconscious and badly burnt. The decision was easy- Sims grabbed Socinus, and hauled him towards the exit.

"Come on! I got him, I got him!" Crashdown yelled over the growing fires, grabbing at the wounded man's feet. Tyrol bemoaned his friend loudly.

"Oh, for gods' sakes..."

"I got his legs, I got his legs!"

"I got him! Try it on your shoulder, on your shoulder."

Sims leapt from the burning craft, helping Tyrol carry his hurt friend away. Cally was on her knees, choking and coughing. Two more bodies lay nearby. Sullivan struggled breathe, undoing his vest and laying down his weapon. Gently, the chief and Sims laid down the young man a safe distance from the crash. He began looking the young man over. Socinus had been badly burnt about the face, chest and hands. Sims stared past him, head down and hand on the specialist's wrist checking for signs of life as he watched Crashdown drag the Vice-President from the flames. Socinus was breathing, but it was shallow and his pulse was weak.

The Raptor exploded, shooting flames into the air. Sims was coughing, trying to stem the wounded man's bleeding. Sullivan was over by another body. He looked at his superior officer, and shook his head. Dead. Sullivan move on to the two coughing civvies. Tyrol was yelling, Callie going for supplies, and most of everyone else coughing.

They took inventory as the marines patched everyone up as best they could. They had basic first aid training alone, but that was still more than anyone else had. Socinus was first to be treated by Sims- the poor kid was badly burned and struggling to breathe. Sims tilted his head back, opened his airway as Sullivan ran over to the VP. Callie ran over to the sergeant, handed him the Raptor's medkit. Sims became dimly aware of a general pain, throbbing in the background. He focused on the young specialist, fighting his way through the distraction. He opened the kit, surveying the contents. There was a copious amount of gauze wrapping, bandages, some tweezers, iodine, various bits and pieces, and a faceplate for CPR. Sims ended up pouring most of the bottle of antiseptic onto the specialist's chest burns.Then, Sims gently applied gauze to the large, charred sections of flesh he could see and taped it down. Callie helped as best she could, but already her hands were beginning to blister. Sims gently pulled them away by the wrists.

"Callie, let me."

"Okay."

She craddled her hands to her chest, sitting there quietly as Sims used almost half the bandages in the box on her friend. Then, he turned to her, asked her to extend her hands. He bandaged them as softly as he could. Off in the background, one of the civilians cried out a little as Sullivan pulled a piece of glass from her arm. Callie winced a little, and thanked him quietly. Tyrol stood nearby and watched the entire time, panting from the exertion and bleeding rather badly. As she stood to leave, Sims watched Crashdown walk up to one of the civvies. She was awkwardly trying to use a piece of electronics with bandaged hands.

"How we doin' on that?"

"It's not responding, sir."

"Are you even trained to use this thing?"Crashdown yanked the device away, wiped it on his flightsuit with a grimace. He began poking at it himself as he turned to Tyrol.

"How's he doin', Chief?"

"Not doin' so good. I don't know if his lungs are burned, or what," responded the older man with a frustrated sigh. Seeing his people hurt was wearing on him. He took a step close to the lieutenant, hands resting idly on the butt of his pistol.

"Well, he's a tough kid, he's gonna-- he's gonna pull through. Get those wounds looked at, Chief."

"Yeah. Lieutenant... shouldn't we be moving out? I mean...do you have a plan for tactical deployment, or..."

"Plan for tactical deployment, Chief? Get to the high ground, it'll be our best chance of being seen by a search party."

Sims was surprised. Judging my the amount of Raiders he had seen up there, Kobol was at the very least occupied. They had been seen going down. Soon, Raiders would be flying around, try to spot them. Being on high ground meant a better view for anyone who wanted to bomb them. Crashdown's plan amounted to suicide. Apparently, the chief had the same realization

"High ground's also our best chance of being seen by the Cylons. They're flying around, sir, they might land troops before we get rescued."

"That's true."

"Yeah. Sir, if I may suggest that we take cover, on the ground? Maybe somewhere where we won't be seen from the air?"

"Okay, yeah, Chief, that's... ( sighs ) carry on, Chief."

The sergeant was rather surprised by the lack of leadership shown by the lieutenant. It wasn't unexpected...but the marine had expected more. Tyrol was obviously in control, knew what he was doing and thinking straight. Sims looked at Callie. Apparently, she shared his sentiments- namely, that the chief should be leading them, and that they should be moving out as soon as possible. She walked off to help the two civvies.

The gunny got to be as private as possible with Sullivan, to try to assess their options. The group consisted of them, the Vice President, Callie, Tyrol, the lieutenant, a machinist called Selix and a history teacher named Targ. The gear was singed but good to go, and their position was flat and the perfect spot to be strafed. They had to move. There was precious little time to waste.


	3. Where's Baltar?

"Targ, Selix, can I get a hand up here, please?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cally, how's he doin'?"

"Not good, sir."

"Get a blanket on him, keep him warm."

Socinus was, indeed, not doing well. His pulse remained shallow and steady, but his breathing was getting irregular. Sims turned to his lancejack.

"Hey, Sullivan! What're we gonna do now?"

"About what, sir?"

"Everything."

Callie was still within earshot, but Sims didn't care. She pulled a blanket over his friend, doing her best to keep him alive.She looked up at the marine, her eyes pleading. _Save him. Save me. _Sullivan was still thinking.

"I dunno, sir. Maybe intubate the kid, throw him on a stretcher and pray to the gods that we can make cover by nightfall."

"Yeah, I was thinking 'bout that too.We've been here almost twenty minutes, which is ten minutes too long for my taste."

"We're lucky we haven't been strafed already."

"Yeah. Gather everyone up, we'll head towards those wooded hills to the ...uhh...what direction is that?"

"Damned if I know.I was too busy crapping my pants to really notice. Frack, they were close on the way in, eh? "

"Yeah, I hear you. Okay, get the supplies, get Tyrol and Seelix to carry the stretcher she and Targ made. We'll hide in those woods, in the valley or something. This flat land isn't doing us any good. We'll have access to the high ground if he need it, plus that river over there, right Sullivan?"

"Aye aye, sir."

Sims fiddled with his vest, looked around. Crashdown was still fooling with the rescue wireless, Tyrol and Callie carefully moving Socinus onto a makeshift stretcher. Sims slung his submachine gun over his back, walked over to the ranking officer. Sullivan was rooting through the first aid kit, looking for a trach tube.

"Yeah, gunny?"

"We're moving out now, sir. Towards those forested hills."

"Hey, asshole. I don't remember issuing those orders."

Sims gritted his teeth. _This isn't the time for pride. This is the time for survival. Do or die, flyboy._ The lieutenant was fiddling with an unencrypted radio receiver on a hostile world. Sims wondered why he simply didn't wave a flag clearly labeled 'PLEASE SHOOT US'.

"Sir, please put that away, we need to get moving NOW."

"You're dismissed, gunny."

Sims looked over his shoulder. Everyone was watching now. Callie was staring, wide-eyed. Tyrol had his arms crossed over his chest, and Sullivan was reaching for his sidearm in case things got rough.

"Socinus is hurt, bad. Look, Crash, you can stay here with that bullet magnet you're holding on to, but the rest of us are leaving. "

"Frack you, marine. Everybody, hold position."

At this point, Sims shoved his squat, five-foot-nine bulk right in the pilot's grill. His helmeted face was inches away from the pilot's. His left hand swung down, batting the radio from Crash's hands. His right rested on his combat webbing, thumb looped behind a right-angle flashlight.

"Move, or be moved."

Crash pushed the shorter marine, and cranked back his fist for a roundhouse punch. It never landed. Sims' right elbow swung up, smashed into the side of the pilot's neck. Crash went limp and collapsed from the brachial stun.

"Targ, help this wannabe up. We're moving out, double time."

He reached down, pulled Crashdown's sidearm from the holster and slipped it into his webbing. He shouldered his subbie, scanned the horizon before turning back to everyone. They were looking at each other as if they expected the marine to start shooting any second. He stared right at Tyrol. The older man held his gaze a moment, then nodded.

"You heard the gunny, we need to move NOW. Those hills are about three miles away, and we need to get there before the Cylons figure out we're here. Callie, grab the first aid kit..."

Everyone was moving, as Sims and Sullivan positioned themselves on the outside of the group, like sheepdogs. Their job was to make sure everyone got to the hills safely. Before they could get themselves organized, there was a roar off in the distance. Three raiders swooped low over the ruins behind them. They were far, but it simply reinforced the urgency of the situation. Everyone broke into a run almost right away. Sims and Sullivan did their best to keep everyone together, guns up and scanning ahead of them.

It took little time at all for everyone to start panting. Callie was beside the sergeant, head bobbing as she ran with the medkit. She kept pace with him, despite the fact that it obviously appeared to be causing her a fair amount of discomfort. Her singed hair bobbed along, just within reach of his gloved hand. He caught her looking up to him, smiled and winked. She struggled to smile back, mouth wide open as she tried to suck down more air. He swatted at her playfully, thumped her gently on the back before calling for a rest.

The raiders sounded closer to the marines. They knelt in the high grass as everyone tried to catch their breath. Sims figured the hills to still be two miles off, which was quite a distance. The enemy was closing in, and cover was still a fair ways away. Marines could be expected to run that far with full gear in fifteen minutes. At a dead, balls-out run Sims and Sullivan could have been there in twelve minutes. The civvies, however, were all horribly out of shape. They had run the first three miles with a great deal of trouble. The deck crew were a little better, but all of them were now sprawled out on their backs. The marines knelt, keeping watch for Cylons.

"Up and at 'em! C'mon, people, let's MOVE!" Sims yelled.

It was fifteen minutes of hell. The raiders were within sight now, slowly cruising around the ruins about a mile off of the wreck, in the opposite direction they had come from. The sound, the sight of the sleek craft gave everyone the adrenaline needed to make the treeline. Crash was too tired to complain as he stumbled into the shade. Sims and Sullivan urged everyone further forward, further into cover. They staggered about another two hundred feet into the conifers, and collapsed as the earth started to rise up sharply into a small mountain. It was heavily wooded, the trees almost blocking out the sunlight.

Sims sat down, put his head between his knees, and tried not to throw up. Once the nausea had passed, he looked around for himself. It wasn't a bad spot to make camp, and since everyone was there already, he figured they may as well. He looked to Tyrol for confirmation. The chief had his eyes closed as he panted and gasped, head rolling. Socinus was still on the makeshift stretcher, and Crashdown was busily vomiting ten feet away. Sims took off his helmet, and started counting everyone. He didn't get past a count of four before Seelix interrupted him.

"Hey, where's Baltar?"


	4. The Descending Night

_Frack._

Everyone was staring at Sims now. He looked around- indeed, Baltar was not present. Everyone was looking around, their voices starting to rise. Sims was getting ready to go back for Baltar when Tyrol stopped him.

"Gunny, you go back, they'll spot you. No point in losing two men over a panicked mistake, right? Wait till dark."

Sims was standing there, panting. Everyone was watching him again, waiting to see what he would do. He sighed, sat back down, and unslung his submachine gun. Everyone watched as he pulled it apart, started to clean it. Before too long, everyone went back to the slightly more pressing matter of survival. More inventory, more wounds to be salved. Socinus to look at after. It was all pressing down on Sims now.

The action of stripping and cleaning his gun was automatic now, but it gave Sims time to think. Tyrol was handling the situation admirably. Socinus was continuing to deteriorate, while Sullivan was shining. The civilians, however, seemed to be dragged along by inertia. Targ and Seelix just seemed to stand there, numb. Callie and Crashdown were coping slightly better. Sims check his watch, then realized how useless that was. He had no clue what the planetary time was. It looked to be late afternoon, so he hoped he didn't have long to wait.

The campsite was established as best as possible. It was fairly good ground, heavily covered from above. Everyone did their best to make it as comfortable as possible- Tyrol and Seelix were raising the survival shelter, Callie looking after Socinus, and the others rooting through supplies. Sims reassembled his gun, chambered a round. He was thirsty as hell. He took a few sips from his canteen before jamming back onto his belt. The thirst made him remember. He called Sullivan over.

"Hey, can you do me a favor and scout around some? See if you can find a stream or something, but mostly get the lay of the land. Get back before dark, will ya?"

"Yessir."

"Thanks, corporal."

Sullivan took off at a trot into the woods, gun in hand. Sims just sat there , gun across his lap, and watched everyone in the fading light.

The sun was behind the mountain they were covering behind when Socinus stopped breathing. Callie noticed first- she was closest to him, and made his welfare her personal job. It took her about thirty seconds to realize that his chest wasn't moving. Then, she was screaming. Sims ran over, to find her tearing open the medkit, screaming for help.

"He's not breathing!"

Sims checked, and indeed he wasn't.

"Callie, give me the intubation kit! Give it to me now!"

She rooted through the bag in a frenzy. Sims wasn't quite comfortable with anything beyond basic medical skills, but he knew how to intubate. He struggled to force down the panic rising in this throat.

_Save the kid._

He tore open the packaging, tried to keep calm. Performance anxiety surged to the surface.

_If I don't do this right, he dies. If I don't try at all, he dies._

Sims was coming apart. His hand trembled as he breathed quietly, trying to focus.

_How long has he been out? Four minutes without air and he might be brain damaged. _

Thee tube was jammed in. Callie was checking for a pulse.

_Six and it's likely. _

He didn't have one. Sims struggled to get the tube all the way down.

_Eight and he's dead._

Chest compressions. He put his full weight into them, winced as he felt a rib give way.

_Don'tthinkdon'tthink...ribs heal. If he's not breathing, then it doesn't matter._

He felt blood staining his hands, watched Callie give him breaths. She nodded, pushed him off. Little bits of charred flesh stuck to the blood on his hands from where the gauze had come off. Callie was weeping. Everyone had been watching. Sims stood up, took off his helmet and leaned against a tree.Socinus was alive, but just barely.

Sullivan was back before sunset, as promised. He walked into the campsite, saluted.

"Well sir, there's a stream two miles north-northeast of here. Aside from that...flat pine forest. Reminds me of Virgon, but that aside, nothing I think we have to work about."

"Thanks, Sullivan. Hold the fort, eh?"

The younger man nodded, and watched the gunnery sergeant stalk off into the descending night.


	5. The Return

**A/N**: Sorry for the long absence. Blame the fanatical shippers. And Natters. That aside, another chapter.

Sims forced one foot in front of the other. Dawn had long ago past, and the light of Kobol scorched his retinas. When he closed his eyes, he still saw the three phosphorent dots of his night sights. He had spent all night searching for Baltar around the wreckage, ducking overflying Cylon ships.

_Right.Left.Right.Left._

He could barely keep his eyes open. He didn't know how long he had been awake. He didn't know if he had been seen.

_One more mile. Just one. _

His gear felt like it was made of lead. His webbing was cutting into his shoulders, arm and leg. Force of will kept his gun up and panning back and forth. He had been repeating the 'one more mile' mantra for an hour.

_Callie._

That word, that face, put his boots in motion. The thought of her. The thought of her alone, with Sullivan and Tyrol to protect her. Cylons would barely have any resistance before they caught and killed her. His feet burned as they struck the ground.

_Callie._

The thud of his boots seemed distant. His eyes watered as the sun slowly starting climbing. His world seemed to shake as he continued walking. A plume of smoke, the smell of excrement. He was close. The clearing loomed in front of him. He tripped. He crawled. He stood again, staggered. Everyone looked up at him. Tyrol, Seelix and Sullivan had guns drawn. He smiled, the world spun, and he collapsed.

Darkness claimed Sims briefly, before he struggled back to consciousness. He was somewhere soft and bright. Rounded shadows formed above him, and he forced his eyes open. Tyrol and Sullivan were above him, hovering. Sullivan looked well rested, helmet off and under his arm. Tyrol, however, looked like hell.

"Hey Chief."

"Hey Gunny. You didn't find Baltar, did you?"

"No sir. Not a sign of him. Not a sign of anything."

A softer voice cut in. Small hands pulled at his helmet straps.

"Hey Gunny. Don't try to move, okay?"

Callie. His heart leapt into his mouth as a few windblown strands of brown hair flapped into his line of sight. His helmet was pulled up, and he heard it clunk to the ground beside him.

"Frack," muttered the chief under his breath, "Well, I guess we're okay where we are now, but we have to find the vice-president sometime. Right now, you need some rest."

"Aye, sir. Can I ask how things went here tonight?"

"No, rack out."

"Sullivan?"

"Crashdown got excited, so he's ziptied over there."

"What the hell? What happened?"

"He tried to get his sidearm back, so I gave him one upside the head and tied him at the wrists and ankles."

"Chief?"

"I approved. He's been causing trouble. Now, get out of that gear and get some sleep, marine."

"Aye sir."

He felt small hands crawl over his body armor, undo clasps. He sat up, pulled off his webbing and armor and pushed it aside. Pulling his pistol out of the leg webbing, he placed it in his hand, on his chest. He lay back down into Callie's lap, and promptly fell asleep.


	6. Call Me

**A/N:** Scattered was great...so I had to continue this story. Enjoy.

Sims awoke to the sound of gunfire. He was staring down the iron sight of his sidearm before he knew it. Crash was thrashing around, trying to get up, run, anything. Seelix was sitting by Socinus, stroking his hair and talking quietly to him. Tyrol was sitting up against a tree stump, rifle in hand as he scanned the area through its scope. The shots were distinct, now- single shots, from Colonial sidearms. Carbine fire, from the other rifle in the Raptor. Suppressive fire, a marine submachine gun. Bursts of full auto...he couldn't identify.

Cylons.

Sims was up, looking for his webbing and gun.

"It just started, Gunny. It's coming from that direction."

"What's going on, Chief?"

"I sent Callie, Targ and Sullivan out to collect the supplies we left behind."

"Callie?"

He started to get up, tossing on his helmet and shouldering on his webbing with as much speed as he could muster. He ran the bolt on his subbie, and started off towards the fight. Tyrol called out to him.

"Gods, Gunny! Get back here! You gotta help me defend Socinus!"

The chief was right, Sims realized. Sullivan and Targ could take care of themselves, hopefully wouldn't frack up too bad. The people who needed defending were the wounded man and Seelix. So, he sat back down, went prone and covered the direction that the sounds were coming from.

Sims lay there, doing up his combat webbing and watching. Waiting. Listening. The gunfire tapered off, eventually stopped. He was sweating. Nervous. Three laden figures appeared after ten of the longest minutes Sims had ever experienced. Sullivan led, burdened heavily and keeping a solid clip. He kept checking behind him, waving at a barely standing Callie. Sims broke line, dashed towards them. They both drew down on the sound, but seeing the squat marine, lowered their weapons.

Baltar was with them. Sims stared at the muddied and bruised Callie, then the lacerated Baltar before turning to Sullivan.

"Report! Where's Targ?"

Sullivan shook his head.

"Kay Eye Ay, sir. Toasters jumped us about a mile back. We couldn't see them, but...yeah. They got Targ pretty good, and we had to fight out. Poor bastard didn't even know what hit him."

"Frack. Where'd you find this one?"

"Out in the woods. Apparently passed out from the blood loss, wandered for a day before finding us."

"Good to see you, sir."

"Gunny.

The vice president's response was weak. The marine nodded at him, embarrassed.

Yet another bad day. Another dead friend.

He took a portion of each of their loads, helping them haul it back to camp. After the adrenaline rush, the weariness was beginning to set in again. He had only managed a few hours sleep. The supplies, light yet bulky, were awkward to haul. Seelix ran out, grabbed a medkit from him. Administering a dose of an anticoagulant to the prone Socinus, she looked at Tyrol.

"The injections are stringing him along, but he needs a surgeon."

"Yeah, I know."

His eyes bulged at the site of the unsteady Baltar staggering into the clearing, followed by the two marines and Callie. She leaned against Sims, sobbing quietly.

"Where's Targ?"

Sullivan ran his boot through the dusty dirt. the Chief repeated himself.

"Where's Targ?"

"He didn't make it, sir."

"Frack!Fracking...frack. Gods, oh frack..."

Tyrol launched himself into a tirade. He was angry and depressed, raving and running his hands through his hair. Sims was laying down the equipment, as Baltar approached him.

"Mister Sims?"

"I go by Gunny, Mister Vice President."

"Gunny, then. Why is the lieutenant tied up?"

"He was causing trouble. Hell, I'm pretty sure the reason we had to bug out so quick was because he was fooling with the distress beacon."

"I see. Perhaps you should untie him, as we might need every hand to defend the camp against the Cylons."

"I see your point, sir. But I wouldn't trust him with a gun. If it comes to it, fine. That reminds me...can you handle a sidearm?"

"Uhhh, no. I can't."

"Okay, fair enough. I'll have to teach you. But right now, we need to move."

"Why?"

"In case the toasters come looking for us, sir."

Baltar nodded, shuffled around uncertainly before beginning to pick up boxes and gear.

Callie was sitting by herself, curled up tight. Sims reached out, stroked her hair gently.

"Callie...Specialist. We need to move."

"Call me Callie."

She was forcing herself, and he knew it. She was running on fumes. She was overwhelmed with despair and pain. He gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugged her tight, and whispered to her. Seeing her like this rattled him.

"Just gotta be strong a little while longer, Callie. Just a little further, a little longer."

She nodded, pressed herself against him for a second, and stood. Sims pulled his arms back, brought his gun up. He marshaled himself, put on his best drill instructor face, and started shouting.

"Well ladies, looks like we're in for a hike. Keep alert, eyes and ears. Sullivan, you're at the back, everyone else on me."


	7. Moving On

**A/N:** Wow, I saw Valley of Darkness, and I never realized that black flak vests were the new red shirts. Continuation!

Seelix sniffled. Baltar was talking to himself as he hefted supplies onto his back. Sullivan and Callie were taking five. Everyone was about ready to go. Seelix's words, though calm and quiet, rose above the bustle.

"He's not going to make it."

"Huh?"

Sims turned around. Seelix wiped at her eyes beside Socinus. She gestured helplessly at the young man as he struggled to breathe.

"He won't, Gunny. He's too far gone, the meds got here too late, or the damage got worse. If we move him, we'll kill him outright. If we stay put, he's got a day, max."

"Max?"

"With the meds, with surgery."

"Gods."

"Sir...we should make the suffering stop."

Sims nodded. He wasn't a veteran of any of the wars, but he knew when it had to end. Memories of a childhood pet surfaced. He pulled his sidearm, made sure there was a round chambered. Tyrol leaped on him.

"Gunny...Gunny, let me do it. He's my man. I'll do it."

Sims saw the pain in the Chief's eyes. He nodded, offered the man his weapon butt-first. Tyrol just backed off, put up his hands. Not like that. Instead, he went to the medkit. He talked quietly to the young man as he prepared a heavy-duty overdose of the morphine. Everyone watched, horrified and broken. They knew it had to be done, and Seelix muffled a sob. They hated it anyways.

"Hey, buddy. It's Chief. How ya doin'?"

"What's goin' o­n, Chief?"

"Well, you know. Just listenin' to the birds."

Socinus groaned in response. Callie was rocking back and forth, transfixed. Targ was dead, sacrificed for what? Socinus was dying anyways.

"I, uh... I got a little somethin' for the pain. Good news, buddy."

Socinus's eyes darted open as the powerful drugs rushed through his system.

"We got a rescue party here. The raptor just landed. We're gonna put you o­n it, take you back to Galactica. Okay?"

"I'm goin' home?"

"Yeah. You're goin' home. "

His eyes closed. Tyrol wiped furiously at his eyes.

"C'mon, we still need to get moving. Lancejack, get the el-tee, would you?"

Sullivan grumbled, his despair manifesting as anger. He none-too-gently hefted the flyboy to his feet, slashed the zipcuff.

"Listen and listen good, motherfrakker, because I'm only saying it once: do. Not. Frak. With. Us. Me and Sims haven't been sleeping good, and you're stupidity isn't helping. We have no problems perforating your ass on short notice, so don't give us a reason. Now, git. Go."

The lieutenant tried to look defiant, failed, and hefted his share of the supplies. Sims just watched, and took lead. What else could he do? Callie followed him, strap of her rifle digging into her shoulder. Seelix, Tyrol, and Baltar followed, with the crew chief trying to provide security for the center of the line. Crash was very carefully covered by Sullivan. They all marched off, hoping to outpace their implacable foes. Behind them, the wind pulled at the dead man's hair.


	8. The Last Charge of Raptor One

**A/N:** Fragged was something else, I'll try to do it justice. This is the finale, for this part of Sims' continuing adventures. More of them can be found in other fic, **_'The Job'_**.

They collapsed about three miles later. Sims was doing well -having just woken up- but everyone else was exhausted. They set up camp as best they could, people slumping over stumps and moss. Sims and Sullivan stood guard. The supplies burdened them too heavily, with so few people to carry them. As the small band panted and rested, Tyrol handed out field glasses to Crashdown, Baltar and Seelix.

"El-tee, you got your head back?"

He nodded, but the marines exchanged glances. They didn't trust him.

"Okay, leave your gear here. Crash, here's my sidearm. The three of you scout around, find out why the Cylons haven't been chasing us. Keep low, eyes and ears, and if you get into trouble, just run."

Sims outright frowned, but Tyrol had a rifle, as did Seelix. The three scampered off into the woods, trying to keep low. He turned to the two marines. Callie was covering them as the chief spoke in a low voice.

"Okay, guys. I need your support on this."

"On what?"

"Getting Crash to do his job and lead us."

"Frak that BS!"

"Listen, he went to officer school, and we didn't. You guys can fight, and I can fix things, but he's the only one who actually went and learned about commanding people and small unit tactics."

Sims nodded. It was true, and he was more qualified to lead.

"Just prop him up, make suggestions. I think he's learned his lesson."

"Okay," muttered Sullivan, "but he better well have. We don't have the luxury of knocking in his teeth now."

The three returned, breathless. Cylons had been spotted ahead, dragging missiles from a downed ship to a small clearing. Tyrol groaned.

"A missile. They're building a missile battery."

"Well, at least we know why they're not chasing us," grumbled Crashdown. He obviously wasn't too happy, either.

"Why? Why aren't they chasing us? Surely a missile launcher would be impractical!" Baltar exclaimed, remaining confused at the dour expressions on the faces of the marines and officers.

"Because they don't have to. They can just sit back, launch a missile barrage that'll wipe out every living thing in this valley," the chief responded wearily.

"Yeah, airbursts with a chemical agent. Sarin, VX, that sort of stuff. My dad was in the last Cylon War, said it was pretty common," added Sims. His father had burns on his wrist from not sealing his chemsuit fast enough.

Tyrol, Callie, and Sims followed Crash to the site, looked it over for themselves.

"I count... six missiles being carried into the forest site so far."

Sims nodded. She was astute. A six missile conventional battery, it looked like. A handful of Cylons to go with it.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. El-tee, check this out."

"What do you got, Chief?"

"Forty-five degrees east of the launcher. You see that tree stump?"

"What the hell is that?"

"It looks like a dradis dish. At least, the Cylon version of a dradis dish. It's probably salvaged from the nose cone of the ship. They're building an anti-aircraft battery."

"Anti-aircraft? For what? There are no other aircraft around here," Callie stated. Then, it dawned on her too. Tyrol spoke it aloud, voicing everyone's chilling realization.

"The Galactica's gonna send a search and rescue team. When they do, that's at least two raptors doing a low pass over the crash site. When those raptors come looking for us, risking their lives to rescue us..."

Crashdown finished the sentence.

"Cylons will shoot 'em down. "

Everyone kneeled or sat in the clearing, reporting on their own scouting ventures. Sims and Sullivan looked on quietly, trying to evaluate the situation. Crashdown started, everyone rallying around him.

"The launcher looks like a simple point-and-shoot. No built-in guidance. Ordnance appear to be standard ship-to-ship missiles. They're modifying them for atmospheric flight."

"One Cylon sentrywalks the perimeter, stopping at regular intervals," Callie interjected. Sims nodded politely at her. The nature of the missiles didn't matter at this point, only that they had to be put out of commission. Baltar was next,Crash pointing to each person in turn.

"The dradis dish that controls the missiles is o­n the 4.5 kg wavelength, judging by the diameter. It's guarded by two centurions, I think."

"I'm sorry, Doc, did you say it was guarded by two centurions?"

"Yes, I did," the battered bureaucrat responded as evenly as he could. Crash continued speaking down to him. Sims could hear the doctor gritting his teeth in agitation.

"Okay, is the dradis guarded continuously of intermittently?"

"I saw two centurions through the field glasses...continuously, for five minutes. In that time, they didn't leave their post."

"So there's three toasters near the launcher. Two more out by the dish. That's a lot of Cylons. You ever handle a weapon?"

"Who, me? No. I'm not a soldier, Crashdown," he said, as if such a suggestion was ridiculous.

"I'll try to give you the most simple assignment, but I'm gonna need every man."

"You're not suggesting we attack the Cylons?" the chief broke in incredulously.

"We owe it to Socinus and Tarn to tack the frakkers out before they kill anyone else. We have equal numbers. We have the element of surprise. Therefore, we have the initiative. We can attack at the time and place of our choosing."

"El-tee, a word... in private."

The lieutenant pulled Tyrol aside, talking in an aggressive tone. Sims looked at them briefly, but turned back to the conversation amongst the others. Baltar, it seemed, was rapidly slipping into insanity.

"He's crazy. I'm not trained for this kind of thing. I've never fired a gun in my life."

"I haven't fired one since basic," offered Seelix, shrugging helplessly. Sims looked to his lancejack, who was quietly laughing at the dark humor of their predicament.

"You?"

"I just joined to pay for dental school," Callie said, shrugging as well. Sims almost had to slap Sullivan to keep him from guffaws. Then, yells broke over the chatter. Everyone's gave turned to Tyrol and Crash. The chief was remaining calm, staring the clearly angry lieutenant down as he got in the older man's grill.

"That's enough! Chief, look, under the circumstances, it's important that you keep your cool."

The marines turned to face them, and they could see begrudging respect emerge. He knew he was on thin ice. Tyrol responded quietly, too quietly to be heard. Crash was talking louder now, grumbling. He turned away, notebook in hand, and ventured off a little ways from camp.

"This briefing will outlining a plan of attack in five graphs. Graph one: Situation. Our situation is that we are stranded on Kobol with a group of five Cylons who plan to use an AA to destroy any SAR craft sent to find us. There are no friendly forces present."

Looking at the crude map on the ground, Sims had to admit it was a decent plan. Better than he would have come up with, at any rate. He nodded, and turned to Sullivan. He too was nodding, obviously a little surprised at the quality of the assault graph. Baltar was confused.

"What's all this graph business?" he asked the chief in a melodramatically loud aside.

"It's a five-paragraph order. It's a basic command tool. It's taught at officer candidate school. It's just not usually used this... literally in the field."

Tyrol was obviously displeased at being forced on the attack with only two trained soldiers, four men and women with questionable ground combat skills, and one who couldn't even handle a firearm.

"...Graph four: Execution. We will assault the Cylon launch site from the northwest, using--"

"Oh, come on. This is absurd. What, we're talking on the Cylon army, are we? Us? Look at us. What, with two rifles and a canteen? Have you lost your mind--?" Baltar was yelling, incensed. Sims could see his point, but they didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. It was the only real tactical option. 'Run for your life' was no longer a viable strategy.

"That's enough, doctor."

"Is it? Look, no disrespect, but why are we always going uphill? Does anybody else think that this plan is frakking nuts? I'll tell you what's fair. This is fair. We'll have a show of hands--"

"No! Absolutely not! This is not a democracy! The El-Tee's in charge! The El-Tee's in charge. No ifs, no ands, no buts. He say we go, we go. There's no questions..."

Tyrol stepped up, confronting the panicking Baltar. Sullivan moved to support the chief, but Sims stopped him with an outstretched hand. They both watched the argument carefully, ready to intervene. Baltar was yelling now.

"We've already lost two men, Chief! How many more people are we gonna lose?"

_Aw, frak. Well, now morale's ruined. Great,_ Sims thought to himself as the other blanched. What Baltar said was true- this was a very, very bad idea. But they had to do something. Tyrol's voice dropped to a low growl.

"You need to sit down. And shut up right now."

"Nobody tells me to shut up. I'm the Vice President--"

"You need to sit down and shut up right now," the chief shoved him, and Sims stepped to where the shaky man could see him cradling his submachine gun.

"Your briefing, El-Tee."

"Thank you, Chief. Graph four. We'll approach the Cylon launch site from the northwest, using natural ground cover to mask our approach. Our objective is the command and control console. once we reach this position, Cally and Seelix, you're gonna flank out to the left, making a feint on the Cylon position. Hopefully drawing their fire long enough for me and the Chief to flank out to the right and get a shot at the console. The Vice President will stay at position one with the **marines**,"-Sims gritted his teeth as Crash virtually spat the word- "and provide covering fire for both flanking maneuvers."

It was a decent plan. No one was really exposed, and the twin vectors of attack ensured at least a measure of success. Leaving the marines back to provide a decent fire support base also worked well, allowing the more experienced men to act as reserves in case anything went wrong. They all nodded, but Sims knew most of the fight was out of everyone.

"Okay, cock the rifle, click the safety, open the scope. Okay, cock the rifle, click the safety, open the scope."

Sims watched Callie go through the standard drill again and again in wonderment. Sure, the drill wasn't bad in and of itself. But the way she did it seemed so...innocent. It contrasted against her resolve and strength, something he had seen time and again.Sullivan was helping Seelix clean her sidearm, trying to explain how it worked and a few pointers. Baltar simply rocked back and forth, muttering to himself. Tyrol and the Chief were off, scouting again. Over the vice-president's mumblings, he heard the ancient mantra in Sullivan's thick Virgonian accent.

"Tap, rack, fire."

Sullivan demonstrated, slapping the pistol's magazine hard from beneath, then racking the slide and pulling the trigger. He continued the lesson, trying to pound it in to her.

"That doesn't work, eject, rackrackrack, reload, rack, fire."

He demonstrated again, hands moving with practiced ease but with exaggerated slowness. The magazine fell into his left hand, and he slid it back up between the grip and his thumb, pinning it in place parallel to the magazine well. Then, his left racked the slide three times, he reloaded, and pulled the trigger again. The magazine was empty, so there was nothing but a dull click again. He handed the gun back to her.

"Now, I want to see you do it until you get it right. might save your life. Whatever you do, don't drop the magazine into the dirt, or your ammo might end up worthless."

Sims watched the instruction carefully, walked over to Baltar. He shook the man's shoulder gently.

"Hey, sir. Do yourself a favor, let Sullivan teach you a few things, okay?"

Baltar nodded, eyes wide, and ambled over to the lancejack. Sims turned to Callie, taking away her rifle. He checked the sights and the action, like he had on his own weapon. The marines were cocked, locked, and ready to rock. Sims wasn't so sure about the others. The gun was serviceable, but Sims would have rather cleaned it. But, she needed to learn. Bright brown eyes looked up at him silently, trembling and wet.

"Here. Before you go in, chamber the round, and use the scope instead of the field glasses. That way, you have the frakking toaster in your sights beforehand. Hell, at these ranges, I'd tell you to take it off entirely and use the iron sights, but we don't have time to do that, or the kit."

She nodded as he demonstrated stance.

"You always want to be prone. Less profile, more cover, and a decent platform to absorb recoil from. Remember, keep your body bladed like you're in Weaver stance. Keep your thumb near the safety and your finger outside the trigger guard."

She smiled, and he watched her mimic his movements for a few seconds before the two leaders returned.

"Saddle up. It's time to junk some toasters."

The survivors of the crash huddled in a small culvert, where the marines intended to fire down on the Cylons from. Sims and Sullivan stared through low-power scopes, as Tyrol and Crash looked through field glasses. Cylons moved about, vision devices scanning menacingly.

"There they are. All three of 'em, right where they're supposed to be. All right, people, this is it. We're going in. Cally, Seelix, move up the tree line to point alpha."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. El-tee, there's five Cylons at the launch site."

"What?"

"Something's wrong, isn't it? Something's wrong with the plan--" Baltar started to panic again. Sims didn't take his eyes off the enemy. He couldn't.

"Quiet down, There's nothing wrong. There's just a couple Cylons that we didn't account for. That makes for seven Cylons. Five here, and two up at the dish. Are you absolutely certain about the two guards at the dish?" asked Crash for about the third time.

"I know what I saw," counted the doctor defensively. Sims heard Tyrol intervene, trying to explain. Rationalize.

"Maybe there are only five Cylons. They just changed their deployment. They brought the two that were guarding the dish down here. Now the dish is unprotected."

"Gods, Chief, that dish is, like, almost a click away."

"So what? It's unprotected. We can go take it out. We don't have to take on the whole Cylon army."

Sims knew he was right. Three Cylons versus seven humans? It had a fair chance of working. Five Centurions versus seven humans was a bloodbath waiting to happen. Familiar thunder filled the air. The Centurions looked skyward, one of them moving towards a control panel. Sims could hear Baltar screeching.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sonic booms," came Crashdown's reply, even. He knew they had to move, and soon.

"Spacecraft entering the upper atmosphere."

"It's the SAR mission. They're here. They are right up there, Chief. We gotta go. There's no time for discussion. All right, everyone, move out. It's game time. We're taking these toasters out before they kill any more of us."

There was heart shuddering pause. Some shuffling, but not enough. Sims gritted his teeth. This was going to be a slaughter, and his Callie was going to take the brunt of it. She and Seelix would go out, get pinned down by the weight of fire, and get torn to shreds.

"Cally, I said move."

"I can't."

_Good girl,_ he urged her mentally, _force him to rethink things._

"What? That's an order."

Tyrol cut in again. His voice was even off to Sims' left. The lieutenant was trying to drown him out, talking louder.

"She doesn't have to. We can just go take out the dish."

"Cally, you have to move. Cally, this is not a joke. Go. This is not a game, Cally. Go. We have people counting o­n us. They're up there, Cally. Move!"

"Listen to me. We still have time to double back and take out the dish."

Negotiating, now.

"Shut up for a second. Cally, Cally. Specialist. You have your orders. I need you to go out there and create a distraction now! Move! Move!"

It wasn't working. The panic spread to Seelix. Sims could hear it in her voice.

"There were only supposed to be three Cylons and now there are five. How are we supposed to take on five Cylons?"

"Frak orders, frak court marshal. Our people are up there. We have to save them. We don't have any time. Move!"

Crash was yelling now. Sims felt Sullivan tense, and he too watched carefully through the scope. It was a miracle in and of itself that the toasters hadn't heard them already. Callie sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

"I can't do it."

"I said move!"

"No!"

The sound a safety coming off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, hey. Put it down. Put it down," Tyrol repeated. Sims whipped around, drawing his own sidearm as Tyrol did.

"You're going out there, Cally. You're going out there or I'm gonna blow your brains out. Right here, right now."

Crash had his gun pointed at Callie's head, finger on the trigger. Callie was petrified, and stared imploringly at the marine. Sims felt the lancejack stir beside him, but unable to take his sight off the Cylons. She begged Sims with her eyes, tears coursing through the blood and dirt on her face. She knew she couldn't save herself. Sims drew the best bead he could on the man from his awkward position on his back.

"Put it down. Hey, El-Tee. Easy. Take it easy."

"I'm gonna count to three."

It was a cacophony, a quiet cacophony as voices overlapped. Seelix was chanting, Tyrol trying to negotiate, and Crash counting down. Sims didn't dare try to speak.

"This is crazy. This is crazy!" Seelix repeated to herself, rocking back and forth.

"One."

"Put it down right now."

"Oh, my gods."

"Two."

"Listen to me! Drop your weapon!"

"Three."

Sims heard two shots. His heart leapt into his mouth as milliseconds turned to hours. Recalling the event later, he saw a flash from Baltar's gun, the bullet striking the lieutenant in the side. And exit wound appeared just below the right armpit, bullet thumping into the ground beside the gunny. Then, Sims' gun jumped, the bullet reducing the back of Crashdown's head to bone shards and a red mist that showered across everyone. He slumped forwards, resting against a tree stump, eyes sightless.

Sims barely had time to take Callie into his arms, feel hers pull him close before the toasters opened up. Tyrol was screaming.

"Fall back! Fall back! Go! Go! Go!"

Sims whipped around, watching Sullivan return fire as he let go of the specialist. A cascade of brass fell onto Sims as he knelt, bringing up his subbie one handed. He heard the other scrambling back, Tyrol leading them in what the sergeant thought was the direction of the dish. It was hard to tell as bullets whipped around them. Sims drew a bead on the first machine was it advanced, putting two three-round bursts into its chest plate. Staring through the scope, he watched sparks fly. The Cylon didn't even pause. Sullivan took a knee, only to be cut down in a hail of fire. Sullivan's chest exploded, shredded as the bullets tore through the vest. Sims hoped he bought enough time for everyone else, taking to heels as he grabbed his best friend's dogtags and yanked. Sims muttered a feverish prayer as he ran, trying to catch up to the others.

He raced as fast as he could to catch up to everyone else. Every now and again, he ducked behind a tree a sent a burst back, to give them something to think about. Soon, he had caught up to Callie and Seelix, hearing their rifle rounds rip through the air, covering his retreat. He smiled at the short brunette, taking her position as he covered her in turn. He changed mags, fired a brief burst of automatic at the Cylons, who were perhaps fifty feet behind them. As he turned, he panted. Tyrol and Baltar were far ahead, dashing as leaves and wood shredded around them. Callie and Seelix were about twenty feet ahead of him, looking over their shoulder to make sure he was still there. Then, it happened.

The back of Seelix's leg exploded in a horizontal line. She called out for Callie, screaming in pain. Sims and the specialist got to get at about the same time. He looked over the wound- it was largely superficial, a ricochet. She was lucky.

"Grab her arm!" he called out over the gunfire. Rifle in one hand, she didn't even hesitate, filling Sims' heart with pride. They all but carried the young woman, her one good leg flailing wildly to try and gain some momentum. Foliage exploded around them, fountains of dirt erupting as they ran.

They had a clear view of what happened then. The Baltar fired his pistol wildly past them, the chief bringing up the grenade launcher. Suddenly, Tyrol spasmed, clutching his upper arm. The launcher fell.

"Doc! Gimme the launcher! Gimme the launcher!" he screamed, crawling towards a large tree stump. Baltar looked behind him, kept firing as he crabbed crawled towards the weapon, into enemy fire.

_Good lords, is that man brave, _Gunny thought to himself.

Rifle in one hand, Baltar tossed the launched to the chief with the other. The Cylons were ignoring Sims and Callie now, focusing their fire on the other two. Sims sweated and panted as he ran, watching with horror as the dish aligned itself. Tyrol aimed one handed, fired. The device exploded, and the chief and Baltar looked at each other in disbelief. The fire stopped for a brief moment, raptors screaming overhead. Sims and Callie dived into cover at last, mere feet from the others. They propped Seelix up, and Callie began to weep as she dressed the other woman's leg. The fire resumed an instant later, turning their joy to terror.

They were pinned. The weight of fire was incredible. Baltar continued firing until empty, dropping his rifle and scooping up Callie's as she discarded it. Everyone sheltered behind stumps and rocks, not daring to emerge. Sims looked across at the chief. His eyes spoke clearly, all fear gone.

_This is the end, gunny. It's time to accept it and sell ourselves dearly._

Sims grit his teeth, kissed the top of Callie's head. Tyrol was screaming, reaching for his sidearm.

"Stay there! Stay there!" the sound of his voice had a ragged but clear quality.

The three stood almost simultaneously- Tyrol, Baltar, and Sims- weapons leveled. They opened up, a primal roar emerging from their mouthes as they went cyclic. Sims emptied his subbie on full auto, watching the sparks dance across the enemy. Something stung across his forehead as he went for his pistol, pulling the trigger as fast as he could, lost, seeing death and embracing it...

And then the Cylons exploded. He looked to Baltar, then to the chief...who was looking at his nine millimeter as if it had caused the series of explosions. Looking up to thank the heavens, Sims settled for thanking the raptor pilots instead.

The medics looked them over, throwing Seelix onto a stretcher. Sims was bleeding. Other marines milled about, keeping watch. Lee was talking to Baltar and the Chief. Sims wiped his forehead, coming back with a palm full of dirt and blood. A familiar voice called out behind him.

"Hey Gunny, you look like hell."

He turned and smiled.

"Thanks, Hernandez," he growled with a smile, reaching up and clasping arms with his squad's scout. They slapped each other on the back, and Sims' voice got thick.

"Here."

He handed the man Sullivan's tags carefully, and Hernandez nodded. He slapped the gunnery sergeant on the should, and moved past him. Sims spied Callie leaning against a raptor, squatting with her head in her hands. He approached slowly, and put his arm around her shoulders. She sniffled, crying, and put her arms around him. One lay across his chest,t eh other behind him.

"It's over. C'mon, let's go. I need a shower."

She sniffled, rubbing at her nose with freshly bandaged hands. They stood, and she looked around. Making sure no one was in sight, she stood on her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. Arms supporting one another, they sat down in the cramped transports, taking off for the Battlestar.

**A/N:** Read _'**The Job!'**_! Review, and as soon as I can find an excuse, we will see yet another adventure from everyone's unfortunate marine. Best wishes and many thanks,

The Abbot of Beregost


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